


afterglow

by stargirls



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, I love these girls so much, Suggestive Themes, a soft lupcretia from my tumblr!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargirls/pseuds/stargirls
Summary: This moment, she thinks, is one she’ll keep to herself. The journals don’t need to know about the slow return of oxygen to her lungs, or her mess of thoroughly disheveled curls, or how she’s still waiting for sensation to return to her legs. She won’t write about the moonlight that fades through the window behind them, soaking a layer of tangled sheets and illuminating the goosebumps that prickle across Lucretia’s skin. There will be no mention in the IPRE’s official record of tonight.There will be no mention of Lup.





	afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> honestly, it's a crime that i haven't posted anything with these two girls just yet, because i love them, and i'm gay.
> 
> a little something soft for your night. enjoy!

It’s just creeping past midnight when Lucretia can breathe normally again.

Of course, at this point, the IPRE has forgone all notions of a Circadian rhythm. They operate on their own time, divided between meals and research and all the entertainment they can get their hands on. As for the latter, Lucretia’s never felt particularly inclined. She has a job that never rests, particularly because the rest of her party seems intent on getting into the most ridiculous possible situations no matter the world. She’s never short on things to write. Her journals are covered in meticulous records of rescue missions, biological discoveries, the occasional fashion foray gone horribly wrong. The universe demands every iota of Lucretia’s attention, and for the most part, she provides it; faithfully documents every moment of their journey.

This moment, she thinks, is one she’ll keep to herself. The journals don’t need to know about the slow return of oxygen to her lungs, or her mess of thoroughly disheveled curls, or how she’s still waiting for sensation to return to her legs. She won’t write about the moonlight that fades through the window behind them, soaking a layer of tangled sheets and illuminating the goosebumps that prickle across Lucretia’s skin. There will be no mention in the IPRE’s official record of tonight.

There will be no mention of Lup.

Lup, who flops backward next to Lucretia and grins into the heated air. Her hair is just as rumpled as Lucretia’s, but on her it looks natural, sticking up in every direction with careless ease. The tiny hairs curling on her forehead are damp with sweat. She hasn’t said anything just yet, but Lucretia doesn’t expect her to—after all, she’s not feeling particularly conversational right now.

No; what she’s feeling is a warm, undeniable bliss that spreads from her chest to her toes. Drowsiness tugs at Lucretia’s mind, but she blinks hard and rubs at her eyes, because she’s determined not to drift off. Not now, when she needs to commit every moment of this to memory. Because she isn’t entirely sure what she’s just done—what _they’ve_ just done—but whatever it is, she’s going to remember every second.

While she’s losing herself in trying to concentrate, she doesn’t feel the mattress shift next to her. Lup props herself on an elbow, extends a finger, and twirls it. She moves it closer in a lazy, corkscrew spiral and before Lucretia can react, gently taps it to her nose. “ _Boop_.”

And—well, Lucretia can’t possibly keep up her reverie after something like that. She cracks, and Lup breaks into a wide, smug smile that sheds light into the darkened space. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, babe?”

“Honestly?” says Lucretia, and realizes her voice is still hoarse. It’s a strange thing, to hear herself so openly and quietly vulnerable around another person. “How good that was. How good... how good you were.”

Lup snickers. “That has got to be the gayest thing anyone has ever said to me, and you’ve got some tough competition in that department. Trust me on that one.” She reaches out and traces her fingers over Lucretia’s collarbone, making her shiver. “I dig it, though. I dig you. And—“ Her voice drops to a low murmur as she gets to the top of Lucretia’s sternum. “I’m up for round two whenever you are.”

Lucretia can’t say she’s not tempted. She’s never been in the habit of lying to herself, anyway. But she exhales and shifts, dislodging Lup’s wandering hand. “Maybe we could just... lay here? For a bit? If that’s okay, I mean.”

“Oh. Sure thing, sweet pea.” Without missing a beat, Lup stretches her arms over her head and relaxes onto her pillow. She releases a full, sated sigh as she cranes her neck upwards to catch a glimpse of the stars. “Gotta tell you,” she murmurs. “It’s such a small thing, but I dunno if I’ll ever get over seeing different constellations in the sky. I almost feel bad for Cap’n’port, y’know?”

Lucretia does know. Star charts are basically pointless to make anymore, but more importantly, she’s suddenly and strikingly enraptured by the sincerity in Lup’s voice. She’s gazing out the window with an upside-down view, with the night catching in her eyelashes and reflecting across her irises, and she looks larger than life itself. (And she’d laugh if she saw the way Lucretia is staring at her right now, play it up and pretend to bask in her gaze, but there’s something remarkable about the moment that makes it impossible to look away.)

Of course, right then, Lup glances over and notices Lucretia staring, and she breaks into the most awful, unfair smirk Lucretia’s ever seen. “Just can’t get enough, huh?”

“Sorry, just—just thinking.”

“You know I always pegged you for one of those introspective types? You’ve got a million things to say, and it all just happens right up here.” Lup tucks a curl behind Lucretia’s ear. “You should try sharing ’em out loud sometime, hon. I’m sure you’d blow us all away.”

Lucretia raises an eyebrow. “Or you could just read my journals. You know, several cycles’ worth of experiences and thoughts and whatnot?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want capital-S Serious Scientist Luce, I want spur-of-the-moment, spontaneous Luce.” She has a mischievous glow in her eyes that Lucretia recognizes from years of impulse decisions and blazing through spell slots. “Tell me something right now. Right off the top of your head. Don’t think, just open your mouth and go.”

Right as Lucretia does open her mouth, Lup holds up a finger, and she freezes. “Now, I dunno if you understand. You _can’t think_. No thinking allowed. Take that filter down, clear your mind, and just go for it. Ready?”

Resolutely, Lucretia nods.

“Okay—go!”

She takes a deep breath. What tumbles from her lips, absent any truly embarrassing quips or misspeakings, is, “You’re amazing.”

Lup snorts and tosses her hair, sending a shimmer of moonlight through each platinum-bright strand. “That’s it? I know, hon. I guess I was hoping for some kinda revelation, but that’s practically common knowl—”

“No,” Lucretia blurts. “I mean it. I… wasn’t sure what to think of you at first, but you’re powerful and intelligent and so _kind_ , and, um,” she says, and wishes fervently she’d allowed herself some time to compose a better answer. This kind of raw sentiment isn’t her thing, and raw sentiment in front of the girl she’s had a crush on for the last several cycles is something different altogether. “You intimidated me, really, and I guess you still do, but I think the world of you, Lup. I’ve never met anyone like you before and I, um… I count myself very lucky that I did.”

She realizes then that she’s never seen Lup speechless. Mid-thought, certainly; like her brother, sometimes she takes a moment to collect herself before she speaks. This isn’t that. Lup is staring at her and Lucretia knows she’s fumbling for a reply.

Her voice is soft and light with sincerity when she says, “Thanks, Lucretia.”

Lucretia stalls, because she can’t quite recall the last time Lup had used her actual name. Screamed in the seconds before a death, perhaps. But she’s tired of the honesty that relies on impending catastrophe and obliteration and hellfire. She could get used to this quiet candor, she thinks; the kind that manifests itself just minutes after midnight in a moonlit bedroom on a peaceful world. The kind that uses her name in a voice that makes Lucretia’s heart flutter.

“You’re welcome,” she says, and she means it.

Lup’s fingers return to Lucretia’s curls, pulling through them gently and attentively as she stares into space. “Anyway. That means a lot coming from Miss _You’ve-probably-read-my-biographies_. Miss _Lemme-just-forge-this-signature-for-you_. Miss _Ambidextrous-and-possibly-split-brained_. Don’t get me wrong, hon, I love it when people sing my praises—especially you,” she adds, absently snagging a curl, and Lucretia shivers. “But I really hope you’re not trying to sell yourself short here, because you’re something special. What’s your class again? Living grimoire?”

“Classified,” says Lucretia, and lets a smirk slip through her deadpan.

“Was that a _fucking_ pun, Luce? Because if it was, I’m gonna have to get you back for it, and I dunno if you can handle me pinning you to the mattress again.” Lup’s voice drops, low and sweet with suggestion, then laughs as a flush spreads across Lucretia’s face. “Oh, wow, that act lasted all of… two seconds? Couldn’t keep it up, eh?”

Lucretia fixes Lup with the best glare she can muster while lying on her back. “I’ll have you know that there’s more to my personality than _introvert journal keeper_.”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s see what we’ve got here, again? A ghostwriter, deadpan comic, master forger, kickass magic user…” In one soft, fluid movement, Lup pushes a few curls off Lucretia’s forehead and lands a kiss there. “ _And_ the most useless lesbian I’ve ever met. You’re a catch, babe. I’m the lucky one.”

“You’re—you’re just saying that.”

Lup arches an eyebrow. “Then Zone of Truth me, right now. I’m not. Come on, is there anything you haven’t done?”

“Dancing,” says Lucretia.

She watches with a sinking feeling in her chest as Lup’s ears perk up delightedly. “ _Really_. Really?”

“Really. I’m… terrible. The few times I’ve tried have just been genuinely depressing. It’s bad, Lup.”

“Oh my gods.” Lup giggles and presses a hand to her forehead. “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s just… the best image. What kinda dancing was it? Ballroom? Interpretive jazz? _Please_ tell me it was interpretive jazz. Or breakdancing. You gotta tell me, ’Creesh.”

Lucretia sighs, even though she can’t keep her lips from twitching. Forget honesty. Honesty causes her nothing but trouble. “I regret telling you this already, you know that? I really, truly regret saying anything about it in the first place.”

But Lup is too busy snickering to pay her any mind. Lucretia relents. “One time it was waltzing, once it was the foxtrot, once was just at a party I got dragged to, if you must know. I just can’t do it. I trip over my own feet, and step on other people’s feet, and I’m just… I’m godsawful at it, and I’ve got no idea why. What about you, can you… can you dance?”

It takes a moment for Lup to blink the tears out of her eyes. To her credit, she does look like she’s fighting valiantly to regain her composure. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “Sure.”

“You—really? Are you any good?”

Lup’s expression drops in mock offense. “Did you really just ask me that?”

“Okay, okay.” Lucretia rolls her eyes and starts again. “How good are you?”

She grins widely. “Real good. Taako ’n I learned a while back, and we’d entertain at the odd tavern for some pretty good money. I can, uh… I can slow dance, quickstep, swing…? It’s been a hot minute, but we both still got it.”

“What did I say?” says Lucretia. “Amazing.”

“Oh, well, I don’t believe you can’t dance. Nobody just _can’t dance_.” The spark reignites itself in Lup’s eyes, and she sits up straight, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “I just had the best idea. Get up.”

Lucretia isn’t entirely sure if she can, but she’s not about to tell that to Lup. She pushes herself up and shifts towards the edge of the mattress, and the chilled wooden floorboards make her toes curl and sends a shiver rocketing up her spine. Warmth clings to the sheets and every displaced pillow, but she realizes with a start that the night and the room itself are fairly cool.

Then, of course, the chill is replaced with an embarrassed flare of heat as Lup takes her hands and pulls her upright. Lucretia can’t stifle a tiny wobble, and because one of Lup’s many talents is impeccable perception, she notices straightaway. An endeared, teasing smile spreads across her face. “Still a little shaky, huh? I did good.”

“Please,” Lucretia mutters, averting her eyes. “What’s this idea of yours?”

“Okay, so—” With a couple of fluid steps backwards, Lup guides them out onto a clear section of floor. “You said you’ve never been able to dance. I think you’ve just never had the right partner.” She folds a hand in hers and slips the other around Lucretia’s waist, and Lucretia’s eyelashes flutter against the feverish heat of Lup’s skin. “So let me show you. What d’you think?”

Lucretia squirms. “I—”

“Great!” Lup tugs her a little closer, and Lucretia is struck with an intimate familiarity. They’ve just done something similar, she thinks, under a thin layer of sheets and between intermingled gasps. This couldn’t possibly be much different.

So she concedes and Lup leads her in a gentle, easy sway, shifting their weight back and forth but otherwise keeping perfectly still. It feels far too languid to be called a dance; like what they’re doing is something frozen in a honey-trap of time and space. But Lucretia can feel Lup’s breath skirting the top of her ear, and her heartbeat thudding softly against Lucretia’s breastbone, and her anxiety at the prospect starts to melt away. Perhaps this is dancing; perhaps it’s simply existing in the same space. Lucretia thinks the line might not be as clearly defined as she’d thought.

Whatever moment this is, that they’ve captured and kept for their own, it doesn’t dare her to make a fool of herself—it challenges her to forget, if only briefly, about remembering. She won’t have to try to remember this, she realizes. The memory will catch her before she can fall.

“Look at that,” whispers Lup, after a few long minutes of silence. “You’re doing it. Dancing. That wasn’t too hard, was it?”

The drowsiness is returning to smother Lucretia’s brain in a warm, sleepy fog, but she clings to consciousness just enough to mumble against Lup’s shoulder. “Guess it wasn’t.”

“Oh, sweetie, are you falling asleep?” Lup chuckles into Lucretia’s hair, ruffling a few corkscrew strands. “You shoulda told me you were zonked, I wouldn’t’ve dragged you out here with me.”

“Worth it,” says Lucretia.

“You flatter me.” She nudges Lucretia back, pushing her with a soft but firm insistence until they bump up against the bedframe. Despite her best efforts, Lucretia’s knees buckle, and she lets herself fall back onto the mattress. She crawls towards her pillow as Lup collapses into bed beside her. “Oh, boy. I think you had the right idea. I’m more cashed than I thought I was.”

“Sorry,” Lucretia mutters into her pillow. “Tired you out.”

She knows the sound of Lup’s smile; a huff of amusement that breaks through the silence. “Don’t worry about it, hon. Energy well spent.”

Stars flash across Lucretia’s vision, knitting themselves into multicolored galaxies as she slips further into unconsciousness. She thinks Lup says something else, although for the life of her she can’t make it out, and then Lup’s fingers thread themselves through hers and squeeze.

Lucretia falls asleep holding Lup’s hand, and the journals will never know.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @lichlesbian and on twitter @stellarlesbian!


End file.
